


Appley Ever After

by Khashana



Series: Directionverse [4]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Contains No Pie Somehow, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jack is a Dork, M/M, Marriage Proposal, hockey violence, suspected Hockey Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 08:44:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16322990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khashana/pseuds/Khashana
Summary: “Jack proposed by accident in the ER waiting room when I brought him an apple,” said Bitty.--Three Birthday SurprisesThis is that fic. No need to read the others in the series.





	Appley Ever After

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to RiotKid for naming this, and Lady Eternal and Space Kid for the ideas that combined to make this scenario in the first place.

“Now like I said before,” said Coach, “the Aeros play a very physical game. We’re going to be relying on our biggest, toughest players to get in their way, especially defense. Mashkov, Chuchumashev, you’re running the show tonight.”

Jack half tuned out the speech, which was the same one they’d gotten last practice, and focused on his laces and his stick tape. As one of the most powerhouse forwards on the Falcs, he would be seeing a lot of ice time tonight, and was certain to come home with some extra bruises.

It was brutal. Jack checked and was checked by players every minute of ice time he played, often having to act as a human shield so their faster, lighter players could get by and score. He thought longingly of the ice bath he could draw up when the game was over.

All of that was pushed aside when, with a little more than eight minutes left on the clock, Tater was checked into the boards, made an attempt to skate after the offending player, and instead collapsed flat on his face and didn’t get up.

The whistle blew, and the refs were by his side in seconds, but nothing was happening. Jack glanced up at the jumbotron to watch the replay. Honestly, the check didn’t look that bad. But Jack knew well that hits that looked minor could sometimes be at just the right angle to cause major damage instead.

They were maneuvering Tater onto a stretcher now, although he appeared to be once more conscious.

But hockey was hockey, and it stopped for no man, and Jack played the last of the game in a mild anxiety attack.

The Aeros won, with the Falconers’ best defensemen off the ice and the rest of the team shaken with worry. Coach informed them all that Tater had been taken to the local hospital when they got off the ice.

A cold thread of fear wound down Jack’s spine and filled his throat so he could barely speak as he rushed through his shower and media before he was finally allowed to grab his phone and see the missed texts from Bits.

_I saw the hit on Twitter, honey, is he okay?_  
_I know you can’t answer, I’ll call Tyler._

Tyler was one of their trainers. Jack took a second to wonder why Bitty had his phone number.

_Tyler says they’re taking him to Metro General. I’ll meet you there._

Jack exhaled in relief. He had a course of action. Meet Bitty at the hospital. He sent back an acknowledgement.

“I’m going to Metro General if anyone wants a ride,” said Marty to the room.

“Yes please,” said Jack in relief. Whatever else was going through his head, he wouldn’t have to try to remember how to get to the hospital.

The car ride, however, was not at all relaxing.

“How the fuck could that hit have given him a concussion that bad?” said Fitzy, worrying at his own sleeve.

“Maybe it not concussion,” said Choo-choo ominously.

“Well, it didn’t knock him out, he didn’t fall right away.”

“My sister has Lyme disease,” said Choo-choo. “That happened to her once or twice before she started treatment.”

“Oh, fuck, I think my cousin collapsed like that when he had meningitis,” said Poots.

It was exactly what Jack’s anxiety _didn’t_ need: a host of worst-case scenarios ratcheting up the severity meter until he was making fists in his lap trying to keep his hands from shaking.

“Let’s cool it on the wild theories til we know more, okay?” said Marty, too late but still a relief.

Jack didn’t like hospitals. They brought back visceral memories of the overdose, drying his mouth up and making him feel eighteen all over again.

“Honey!” But the hospital after the overdose did _not_ contain a small blond Southerner who flung his arms around Jack and said firmly, and loud enough for the rest of the team to hear, “He’s awake and coherent, and of course they won’t give me any details, but he says he hasn’t felt well since the game started. I really think he’s all right.”

Relief swept through Jack like a warm bath.

“So he probably just has the flu or something, and he tried to play through it,” he thought out loud, and Bitty nodded.

“That’s my guess. Now, are _you_ all right, honey?” He dragged Jack over to a free chair and pushed him into it.

“How do you even know, Bitty?” asked Marty.

“Like I said, the doctors won’t tell me anything, but I’m friends with one of the trainers, and he vouched for me being a friend and not just some random stalker. So I’ve been in to see him.” He turned back to Jack. “What a horrible scare! I wanted to bring you a piece of pie, but I got the Twitter notification while I was out running errands, so all I’ve got is an apple.” He pulled it out of his bag and passed it to Jack, who very suddenly realized he was starving. Because of course he was, he always worked up an appetite after a matinee game, and of course Bitty knew that and knew he wouldn’t have stopped for food.

His chest swelled with love for his boyfriend that could not be contained, and Jack pulled Bitty back into his arms and said, without thinking about it at all, “Marry me.”

A tiny gasp from Bitty, and Jack released him enough to wrap one hand around his cheek and gaze at him.

“Are—is this a rare instance of Jack Zimmermann usin’ hyperbole, or did you mean that?” asked Bitty, voice going quiet on the last words.

Jack thought about it for a second. They’d talked about it in fairly general terms, and to be honest Jack had been pretty sure Bitty was it for him after dating him for approximately six months. And though he hadn’t walked in here planning to get engaged, he found he wanted it to be real.

He met Marty’s eyes as he scooted to the edge of his chair and slid to one knee, asking…for permission? Help? He wasn’t really sure. But Marty slapped the shoulders of the other Falcs and jostled them quickly into a small human wall, shielding Bitty and Jack from the majority of the waiting room. The woman in the chair beside him turned a page in her book. They weren't in their Falcs gear. It was good enough for Jack.

He turned back to meet Bitty’s eyes, which were huge, hands clasped over his mouth. Jack gently pulled his hands away from his face to take them in his own. He found he was still holding the apple, so he wrapped both their hands around it.

“Eric Richard Bittle,” he said quietly, “I’ve been in love with you for a long damn time. Will you marry me?”

“I am never going to stop chirping you for this, just so you’re aware,” said Bitty in a hushed whisper. “Yes, you silly man, a hundred times over, yes!”

He dropped to the floor to kiss Jack, and Jack kissed him back, joy exploding in his chest like Madison fireworks. He wrapped his arms around Bitty and pulled him close, careful not to drop the apple.

“Tater is going to be pissed he missed that,” said Marty in an undertone. Jack’s stomach rumbled, and he pulled away enough to take an enormous bite out of the apple. Bitty giggled helplessly into his shoulder.

Eventually they made their way back to Tater. Marty burst through the door and announced, “You’ll never guess what these two losers just did!”

“What did?” asked Tater from his hospital bed.

“Got the fuck engaged in the waiting room is what!”

“Zimmboni and B? Congratulations!” Then, as predicted, “Wait, the rest of you get to see and I don’t?”

“Maybe that’s what you get for trying to play a hockey game with a fever, Mr. Mashkov!”

“Was hoping room temperature just down too low,” Tater said mournfully. “And then game started, and coach keep saying whole team relying on me. Doctor says I have flu.”

“Wait, isn’t passing out on the ice what he gets for trying to play a hockey game with a fever?” asked Marty.

“You’re telling me you think that’s enough to convince a hockey player that his health is more important than a game?”

“…Fair.”

“Now, you _hydrate_ , do you hear me?”

“What I get if I don’t, B, miss wedding too?”

Bitty’s laugh was like chimes to Jack.

**Author's Note:**

> Of course Bitty has Tyler's number for pie purposes.


End file.
